To the Person Behind the Mirror,

My middle name is Joy.  Some people would say it is a miracle that I was born.  My mom was 42 and handicapped.  The pregnancy was so risky that her doctor told her it would be irresponsible to get pregnant, and then when she did it anyway, he stopped seeing her as a patient.  It took 2 years for her to conceive and she had just about given up when she finally managed to get pregnant.  I was a full-term, healthy baby.  I’ve had no major health problems in my life.

Some people would call it miraculous, I guess.  But I have always seen it as “I wasn’t supposed to be born.”

Do you know how I figured out there was no Santa Clause?  Santa only gives presents to good children.  He gives coal to bad children.  If Santa was real, I would have received coal.  My parents bought me presents because they thought I was a good child.  Santa knows everything, but parents do not.  I was good on the outside but rotten on the inside.  Santa would know that.  But I got presents every year.  No coal.  So there was no Santa.  I was 5 years old when I thought this.

A few years later I remember staring in the mirror and thinking how hard my parents had to try to have a child, and what great risk they accepted to have a child, and all they got was me.  My heart broke for them because I figured they must be so disappointed with this rotten child they ended up with.  I was 10 when I thought this.

I can’t explain what it is about me that is so very bad.  I can’t put it into words.  It feels like poison inside me.

Thank you for listening.  I’ll write again.

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